Ace of Spades
by Hardly Here
Summary: CM Punk and John Morrison find themselves in the middle of a hostage situation on a bus. Can they rise to the occasion when innocent lives are in the balance? Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**After having watches all these old episodes of the dirt sheet, I think that JoMo seems to know something we don't. And he has special powers. Anyway.**

**Do not own. **

Phil hated public transport. Hated it with a vengeance. How he had managed to get through high school with it as his only transportation option was anyone's guess. At the moment, though, it was his and his partner John's only option. The younger man was resting his head lightly on the other's shoulder, seemingly asleep. Phil knew he wasn't, though; John didn't sleep that much in the first place – only when he was really exhausted – but they were both bored. Some old, dreary radio station was playing greatest hits of the fifties over the tinny speakers. Boring.

The bus was near deserted, the only people being an old lady with her knitting in the front seat, a young couple near the back, a burly man with tattoos and a haircut worse than Cena's a few rows behind them, and a young mother with a small boy who was staring at them over the back of his seat.

"I like your hat," He whispered.

John had snagged Mike's fedora yesterday as a joke, and now Phil was wearing it. The dozing man on his shoulder stirred and smiled blearily at the kid. He reached up and plucked the hat off Phil's head and set it on the child's.

"I think it looks good on you, my man." He winked.

The kid squinched up his left cheek in an attempt to copy the gesture, "Thanks, mister!"

He turned to his mother, grinning from ear to ear, tugging at her sleeve, "Look, mum!"

The mother half-smiled at them in thanks. She was a young, sad-eyed little creature, and didn't really seem up to taking care of her energetic ten-year-old at the present time.

"Muuuum," whined the child, "How much longer?"

"I don't know, sweetheart." Her voice was threaded with tiredness, and John leaned forward, clicking his fingers in front of the boy's nose.

"Hey champ, what's your name?"

"Jonathan."

"Good name." Phil shook his head and chuckled at his partner

"Well Jonathan, do you want to see a magic trick?"

The child nodded eagerly, and John gestured at Phil,

"Philly, can you roll up your sleeve? So he can see the cards?"

He complied with much amusement; he'd seen this trick before, but John always adamantly refused to explain how he did it. When he revealed the tattoo of four aces, the child's eyes widened.

"Daddy says only sailors and lowlife assholes get tattoos." He pronounced every syllable innocently, 'lowlife assholes' carrying as much malice as 'Daddy says.'

His mother hurried to shush him, blushing furiously and stammering out an apology.

"S'fine," smiled Phil, "But sometimes people get tattoos as a reminder of something special. Like a keepsake."

"Like bobby?" Jonathan held up a battered little stuffed dog.

"Kind of."

"You'll understand when you're older." Remarked his mother.

John's mouth quirked a little at this statement, but he resumed his original train of thought.

"Anyway, you see the cards?"

Jonathan nodded vigorously to show his understanding.

John drew his hand lightly over the skin, smiling when he caused and involuntary shudder to go through Phil. When his hand had passed, the four cards had disappeared.

"Where'd they go! Did you take his skin off?" The boy sounded genuinely concerned, and even the mother was watching them intently, trying to hide her curiosity behind a magazine.

John flicked his wrist, and suddenly he held in his hand four aces, one from each suit. He indicated Phil's arm again, which had been restored to its original condition.

"Are you a magician?"

"Kind of."

"You sure say that a lot, mister."

"Yes, well... I'm the sort of person you can't really explain. You kind of have to just... understand."

John continued to entertain the child with little tricks, passing the time pleasantly for the four of them. The mother looked grateful, and slipped into a light sleep.

Suddenly in the middle of pulling a coin from various places, John froze. His head whipped around to Phil, eyes rapidly alert.

"Phil..."

"John, what is it?"

"There's someone..."

He was cut off by a deafening gunshot, and the windscreen shattered. Everyone screamed (although the burly man with the bad haircut would later deny it) and ducked behind their seats. The driver slumped forward abruptly, blood gushing from an open chest wound.

"Hey champ, keep an eye on Phil here for me, will you?" Whispered John, ruffling the boy's hair in an attempt to prevent him from turning around and seeing the gory display. The mother pulled him into her chest, watching wideyed as John crept out from his seat, and down to the front of the bus.

There was a eerie silence for a few moments, punctuated only by the sound of the harsh, frightened breathing of the passengers. Then the door was forced open, and John came face to face with a tall, well-built, black-haired monstrosity of a man, flanked by two even huger specimens, who charged into the bus.

"Hello everyone," John's voice held its usual pleasant drawl,

"Who the hell're you?"

"John... Morrison."

"I know him, he's from the wrestling!"

"Well fuck me dead. They'll listen for sure if we've got a cee-lebrity."

"Could you please watch your language?" He asked politely, "There's a child on board."

Crack.

John stumbled backwards as he was pistol whipped in the chin, eliciting a small cry from Phil, who stood up. They all froze, though, at the sound of three guns being cocked.

"Shut the fuck up." He raised his head to address the rest of the passengers,

"Howdy everyone, me name's Howard, and until we get a call from the po-lice I want to hear, one of your is going to die every hour. Starting with your kiddie."

John stared up at the man, before realising his arm was wet. He'd fallen backwards onto the driver. He rolled off with a strangled yelp, causing the three men to roar with laughter, which increased when Howard drove his boot into his ribs.

"I want a go at 'im too. Lets see you body slam me_ now_, bitch!"

John curled in on himself, gritting his teeth against the pain. He wouldn't cry out – wouldn't give the other men the satisfaction.

"Geez, and I thought even criminals would have the decency not to kick a man when he's down. Guess they were right to lock you up."

The three men stopped their assault and looked up at the owner of the voice.

"Phil, don't-" choked John

But Phil was still standing, with a steady gaze despite his hammering heart. He stared right down the barrel of the gun, which was now pointed directly at his head.

"I'm innocent," growled Howard, "And so are my brothers. You're going to be so fuckin' sorry you said that."


	2. Chapter 2

**I actually have the next chapter written, but the temptation of leaving you guys hanging is just too great. **

"There's no need for this," said John, struggling into a sitting position.

"I'm innocent." Repeated Howard, keeping the gun trained on Phil.

"Well then don't make yourself guilty!" John's last word was punctuated by another kick to his ribs, which winded him. However, Howard's self-assured stance crumbled a little as he mulled this over in his mind. John smiled a little in spite of himself – these men obviously hadn't thought this through very well. That was good. They did, on the other hand, look like they knew how to handle their guns properly.

Howard settled for backhanding Phil across the jaw, then strode back to the front of the bus, taking out a notepad and pencil with an authoritative air.

"Okay everyone, I'm going to write down all your names. So none of you fuckers go running off."

John chose this moment to crawl quickly over to Phil, who slipped his arms as gently as he could around his partner's bruised waist.

"Flora." – the old lady.

"Is that Flora with an F?"

John chuckled quietly and rested his forehead against the other Phil's. If it weren't for the guns their situation would be quite comical. These guys were idiots. Very dangerous idiots.

"Oh god, don't tell me we've got ourselves a couple of queers."

All eyes went to them, and they broke apart reluctantly.

"I knew wrestling was for gay people. Who else'd want to watch a bunch of sweaty men rolling around on top of each other." Howard's two men chuckled at his jibe.

"It's okay for them though. The black haired one looks enough like a girl."

"I bet he's the bitch."

Phil ducked his head, allowing his hair to cover the fact that he was blushing furiously. John squeezed his hand soothingly, knowing Phil had had a rough time about his sexuality in the past. Things had happened... which he hadn't yet come to terms with.

"Hey faggot, come over here and we'll have a proper look at you."

"Wait a sec, Ern, I'm getting a call."

The three of them crowded around the small mobile, listening intently.

"_I told you all that a person dies every hour you don't do exactly as we say!"_ Roared Howard,

"...The family of Martin Palmer. _Yes." _Howard cocked his gun and shot a hole in the roof.

"_You better fuckin' believe we got guns, jackass!"_

"A few minutes... yeah... I dunno, they can eat each other for all we care!"

Howard's bravado broke a little when he realised they didn't have any food either.

"Well send some of your red cross boys over or something."

"If they're killing a person per hour we're not going to be here long enough to starve," whispered John, drawing a snort of laughter from Phil.

"Fine. But know this. You are dealing with the family of Martin Palmer." Growled Howard,

"_La familia de Martin Palmer," _echoed the third man, as yet unnamed, before Howard snapped the phone shut.

"Sounds better in French, don't it?" said Ern proudly.

Phil and John snickered from their spot down the back, but stopped quickly when Howard strode towards them, grabbing John by the collar and throwing him back to the front of the bus.

"Don't – you – laugh – at – me – you – fucking – _queer!"_ He stressed each syllable with a strike to John's already injured torso.

"You've hit him enough already -" began Phil

"You're hurting him quite badly" Agreed the old lady softly

Ern cocked his gun and pointed it around the bus, visibly flustered.

"Shut up!"

"You could just leave him alone, though," the young couple seemed heartened by the others' willingness to finally speak, and a low hum filled the previous silence as the other passengers began – tentatively – to voice their opinions.

"Right, the next person to speak gets-" Roared Ern, pausing to send his elbow into the struggling John's chin, which elicited a cry of anguish from Jonathan,

"Stop it, mister!"

And there was a loud bang, which left everyone's ears ringing. Gunshots are much louder in real life, but no-one really took note of that. No-one really took note of anything. They didn't quite believe what had just happened. There was a slight unreality in the situation; a feeling that they would perhaps wake up to find that the scene before them was nothing but a malevolent conjuration of their mind's eye. But they waited, all eyes on the fallen boy, waiting in reverent silence for something to happen, for someone to do something, take action.

Then the boy's painful cry sliced through their blanket of disbelief, puncturing right through to their hearts, as the child began to call for his absent father.


	3. Chapter 3

**Aaaaand here's what happened, as promised XD**

John tore out of Ern's grip, rushing to the boy's side. The kid was crying – as was his mother, who was on the verge of hysterics. Phil, too, was pale and shaking, although he was trying bravely to keep it together for the mother.

Ern stood at the front of the bus, blinking at random. The gravity of the situation did not seem to have sunk in yet. He opened his mouth to speak, but found no words, and so he stood there for a while, mouth hanging open.

"Phil," John snapped his partner out of shock, passing him his sweater. "Put pressure on it."

For some reason he seemed calm, as though he were suggesting Phil wear a blue shirt instead of black. It was somewhat disconcerting.

"Daddy, it hurts." The boy wriggled in pain, but Phil held him down.

"Hang in there, champ, you're gonna be alright."

"No he isn't, I fuckin' shot him!"

"Thank you for that, Howard. Now shut up." Howard was taken aback enough by John's remarks that he did in fact sit down helplessly on one of the seats.

John rolled up his sleeves and knelt beside the boy, gently brushing the hair out of his face. He held one hand up, waving it around.

"Hey champ, can you see my hand?"

"Yeah?" mumbled the child

He clicked his fingers, Jonathan's eyelids dropped and his breathing evened out. Asleep.

"John," asked Phil "remember when that bookcase fell on me? And I thought I was going to die, and then you... you did this thing..."

"This is a bit worse than that, Phil. I'm not going to be able to finish it by myself. You're going to have to help me."

"Anything."

"It'll hurt..."

"Just _do _it," Hissed Phil, hating that the child was so pale. His breathing was becoming fainter and fainter.

"On the count of three, we swap. Then when I tell you, you put your hands on top of mine. Got that?"

Phil nodded silently.

"One. Two. Three."

For one terrible moment, blood gushed from the wound, then John's fingers deftly covered it, and the world stopped. In that moment, though, Phil remembered what had happened last time John had done something like this. He'd slept for a full day, so deeply he had been afraid his partner had died.

But all worries such as those melted away once John closed his eyes and began to concentrate. The kneeling man emanated a strange aura of calm, and everyone relaxed, despite the situation they were all in. Time lost all meaning, all sound became mere noise, and the hours slid by unnoticed. Phil, too, slipped into this feeling of meditative bliss until john's voice broke through to him.

It was like surfacing from a dream, Phil wanted to stretch and yawn, take a few moments to face reality again; but it became clear quickly that John was in no condition for such idleness.

"Your hand -" he gasped. The two syllables sounded like an immense effort on his part. His eyes screwed shut in agony, and he allowed himself a moment's respite, resting his head on the seat next to him. His breathing was ragged, and came in irregular wheezes.

Phil placed his hands as gently as he could over his lovers', running a thumb comfortingly over the knuckles.

Then John began again, and Phil realised how much strain the man was under. He entered a different sort of trance this time, unaware of everything except that the strength was steadily draining from his body. He felt his arms and legs weaken, and beads of sweat began to trickle down his face. His heart was hammering away as if he were undergoing some form of physical exertion instead of just sitting there. When John finally drew his hands away, the two of them sagged, utterly spent. They were panting heavily, shirts soaked with sweat as if they'd run for miles. Time went back to normal, and slowly the passengers on the bus came back to reality, as though wakening from a restful sleep. Murmurs of surprise began to fill the space as everyone realised that the sun was beginning to set. They'd been there for _hours._

John's right hand seemed to be cramped shut, and with an immense effort he pried the fingers open, letting out a relieved whoosh of air as a twisted, misshapen slug fell to the floor with a clatter. He groaned, and slumped wearily against the seat. Phil, too, fell against the back of his seat with a sigh, worn out. He could barely move his arms.

"Mummy?"

The woman blinked a few times to fully clear her mind, and looked over at her child apprehensively.

"Johnny?"

"I'm thirsty."

"Oh, Jonathan..." She swept him up into her arms, holding him close and burying her face in his hair.

"Thank you, thank you so much – I have no idea what you are, but thank you." She cupped Phil's chin and kissed him on the cheek,

"Thank you."

"S'alright," Phil smiled wanly, not really having the energy to do much else. "It was actually John, mostly."

"Yes, John..." Her voice trailed off as she turned to look at him.

"What is it?" Phil leaned forward, and was shocked to see his lover sprawled oddly on the ground. He quickly slid down to join him, shaking the younger man's shoulder lightly.

"John. John?" His voice grew, "John! Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

"Aw shit John, don't do this," Somehow he managed to turn him over so that his head rested in his own lap. John's eyes were closed, and he was breathing softly.

"Now is not the time to be sleeping, John!" hissed Phil, tears of frustration stinging at his eyes. "Dammit, we need you. John!"

**(I know, I did it again, sorry!)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed this, it's much appreciated!**

**Fire: especially you ^_^ The part about the colour of Phil's shirt was a figure of speech – I was trying to say that John was very calm while he was telling Phil what to do, and not panicking like everyone else, and that he was so calm it was like he was just talking about the colour of Phil's shirt. It was perhaps not the best analogy XD.**

*******

_Tired_

Come on John wake up please wake up

_Past tired... exhausted...need to rest..._

I don't know if you can hear me but we all really need you right now you're

_So tired..._

the only one who seems to know what to do

_To awaken before fully rested could be_

John please can you hear me

_harmful_

_***_

"Phil..."

"John, oh god, are you alright?"

"Unhh..."

Phil pulled the younger man into his arms, a little disturbed when he allowed himself to be held like a rag doll. He tried to lift a hand to brush the hair out of his face, but seemed too weak to complete the manoeuvre himself, and allowed the arm to drop back into his lap.

"Mister? Is he alright?"

"I'm fine, champ. Just a bit tired," John chuckled softly in spite of himself and winked. He then promptly nuzzled into the space beneath Phil's chin and shifted slightly to get comfortable.

Phil felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and thanked his lucky stars he had put it on silent. He was about to try and pull it out discreetly when he found himself with a face full of Howard.

"What the _fuck_ was that?"

"_Einstein_ over there shot an innocent child. That's what that was." Growled Phil

"I-I told them. He... he was askin' for it!"

"Do you honestly believe that?" Whispered John.

Howard went to strike him, but Phil pulled him out of the way and took the blow instead, which landed on his jaw.

"Oh, the bitch'll do anything for his sweetheart, won't he?"

When they didn't respond, Howard strode back to the front of the bus. He was visibly shaken, like his two cronies.

"Mister?"

"Hey Champ," smiled Phil

"These are from your arm. I think I fell asleep on them."

Fell asleep. Phil felt strangely like he wanted to cry. The kid was so innocent.

"Thanks for that," Phil's smile was forced this time as he accepted the four aces. He waved the spade at John and chuckled.

"Seven on eleven, snake eyes watchin' you," he sang softly

"Oh, why isn't Hunter here," snickered John

"Do you two ever stop talking?" called Howard from the front of the bus, "Anyways, I wouldn't be laughing if I were you. If the po-lice don't start giving us what we want, I'm gonna make sure you're on the receiving end of that card."

The threat was hollow and they knew it. The men only shot when they got flustered, as they had seen.

"I like this one better," whispered John, pulling the ace of hearts feebly from Phil's hand. Phil was again alarmed at how fragile he seemed. John tucked the card into Phil's pocket and curled up in his lap again.

Howard strode angrily over to them "I thought I told you guys to shut up!"

"Well, no..."

He backhanded Phil across the cheek.

"Oh stop it!" said the old lady, suddenly stern, "The nice men got you out of some pretty serious manslaughter charges. You should be thanking them!"

Howard pointed his gun at her, and she fell silent. Then his eyes narrowed.

"Yes... I think I will thank them. In a way they must be very familiar with. Ern, grab the girly one."

"Which one's that?" chortled Ern, seizing both of them by the hair.

"The black haired one, I suppose."

"One black haired queer comin' up."

Phil was shoved roughly over to the front of the bus, leaving John trying in vain to get to his feet. He could barely even muster the strength to cry out when Phil was led outside into the dark.

"What are you going to do to him?" He gasped, half-stumbling, half-crawling forwards. Ern kicked him back over, eliciting a small yelp of pain.

John's eyes were red-rimmed and glistening with tears; terrible sobs wracked his chest; for the first time he was trembling, frightened and alone.

It affected the other passengers too – The pair of them had been an oasis of calm, and the others had taken refuge in their confidence... it gave them hope. Now the young couple were holding hands and whispering heatedly to each other, and Jonathan's mother had tears in her eyes.

"What's going to happen to him?" repeated John, swiping angrily at Ern. The larger man shoved him away easily, chuckling darkly.

"Something usually only gay men do to each other."

***

Coarse hands raked roughly through Phil's hair, and Howard leaned down to whisper in his ear,

"If you don't co-operate, it's your pretty little partner that'll get a taste. Think about it."

Phil gulped and shut his eyes as he was told to get to his knees.

At that moment, though, he felt the phone in his pocket begin to buzz again.


	5. Chapter 5

**I got offered a scholarship to go study film. F YES STUFYING FILM FOR FREE. You know who else studied film? JoMo. Yeah. UNIVERSITY HERE I COME. In order to share my happiness, I bring you a new chapter. ^_^**

*******

Phil was pushed roughly into the asphalt, and he winced as his phone dug painfully into his side. He didn't reach for it, though, because he swore he heard a faint beep as one of the buttons was pushed...

***

...The Hardys had managed to get a ride with Jericho who had friends in high places... or whatever you call knowing someone who owns a rental car business.

The strains of Children Of The Damned by Iron Maiden blasted through the car's stereo, mixed with Chris's singing – which wasn't too bad, Matt had to admit, but it was irritating nonetheless.

"Turn that shit down!" He growled, updating everyone on his situation via mobile twitter. Despite the noise, Jeff was dazing quietly in the back, draped along the back seats. Matt looked at his phone again

MattHardyBRAND hey can u get to Phil cos he wont pick up his phone

FindEvan yeah I wouldn't be surprised who would want to talk to u anyway?

MattHardyBRAND screw you im serious!

FindEvan hes probably just too busy making out with john to notice

Matt smirked and snapped his phone shut, then in a swift movement removed the CD and tucked it into his bag.

"Hey, don't scratch it or anything you assclown!" Huffed Chris, but let it slide. Really the only reason he had the album on was to keep himself awake. It was getting late, and he'd been driving for hours. He ground the heel of his palm tiredly into his eyes and sighed.

"You want me to drive for a while?" Asked Matt,

"Nah, it's good. Just an hour or so more and we're in the cit-_ay_!"

Matt chuckled at this, and returned to his phone. God, travelling was so boring. He decided he'd give Phil a buzz, at least it was something to do. It rung a couple of times, and then he heard voices, slightly distant ones.

"_...about you two is if we put you in skirts, you'd pass as lesbians."_

Matt's eyes widened and he pressed speakerphone

A deep chuckle. A series of thumps, paired with a series of pained gasps, and a voice edged with hysteria.

"Please," Phil's voice, half-screaming. A little high-pitched, but it was Phil, "It hurts..."

"That's the point, bitch."

The sound of fabric being torn. A soft cry, and then a series of harsh sobs.

"I've never tried this before, but you feel..."

Another scream, this time louder. It died away in halting stages, and a soft sigh was heard

"Nothing more to say? Why so quiet, little man?"

Silence. Grunting.

"No, seriously Howard, why ain't he talking?"

A moan and harsh breathing.

"I dunno," panted the man called Howard, "And I don't care. Take him back to his bitch. I need to think about our next move."

They sat in stunned silence for a while, hardly daring to breathe. Then Chris sped up a little, and focused his eyes on the road.

"They were taking the bus, right?'

Matt nodded not trusting himself to speak.

"This road is on the bus route. We're going to catch those fuckers."

***

John was still sitting on the floor. No-one in the bus seemed to understand how utterly spent he was. Many times he had tried to get up, run past Ern to his lover, but helping Jonathan had taxed his strength far worse than he had imagined. He could barely stand, let alone run.

Who would help? Humans become such sheep in a crisis – everyone was just sitting in stunned silence. Anyway, the only one who might stand a chance would be the big man with the bad haircut. John shuffled slowly over to him, but was pushed back with a snarl of disgust.

"Get away from me you... you... queer."

_Back to that again_ thought John with a sigh. He slumped dejectedly in the aisle. _I'm not a queer, I'm a human being._

Suddenly, something crawled into his lap. Jonathan. Ern grunted from his position near the door, but didn't make any move. He wasn't about to make the same mistake he had made before. He opted for cupping a hand to his ear theatrically as Phil's pained cries rang out in the night. Jonathan nestled quietly into John's chest, providing what little comfort he could. John bit his lip and looked away, blinking back tears. One hand absently plucked the fedora from the child's head and began to stroke his hair.

"I think he gets you, in his own way... He likes you." said his mother, still eyeing Ern nervously. Jonathan confirmed this statement by reaching up and kissing him sweetly on the cheek. John rocked him gently, trying to block out the noises from outside. Night had fallen, and the windows were filled with eerie shadows. Somewhere out there, they were hurting his Phil, and he felt as though his heart was being wrenched in two.

"It's way past your bedtime, champ." He half-choked

"M'not sleepy, daddy." Mumbled the child, nuzzling into the crook of his arm.

John closed his eyes, not really registering the mistake. He was exhausted.

He retreated inside his mind, when something occurred to him.

He and Phil shared a closer bond than most other couples. Where they shared their most intimate moments as one in the physical sense, John had on occasion entered Phil's mind. It was a special feeling, sharing the same consciousness for a while. They could bask in the warmth of each other's emotions.

"_The thing that cracks me up about you two is if we put you in skirts, you'd pass as lesbians."_

A deep chuckle.

Enough. John brought Phil to himself this time. He reached out. It wasn't a strain, or an act of concentration like healing Jonathan's wound had been. It was a sigh, a soft breath carried on the night wind to his love. A gentle caress to take away the horrors of the world.

_Breathe, Phil. Just breathe._

_J-John?_

_I'm here now. Don't you worry._

_John, they hurt me. They were gonna hurt you too, if I didn't do what they said – I'm so sorry-_

_Stop that now, you have nothing to be sorry for._

_John, they hurt me..._

_They're still – Phil, you can't feel it. I'm taking it away for the moment._

_Oh..._

_I'm the one who should be sorry. I should have saved you. I should have done something. This damn body of mine is so weak!_

_Don't say that_

_Phil, I don't think the others have realised yet, but I can't stand up..._

_Oh. Oh shit, John,_

_Don't worry. I'm resting a little. Talking to you. _

_They're still hurting me, aren't they._

_Hush, try not to think about it. _

_But I belong with you. I'm so scared, John. _

_I know. I am too._

A pause.

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I'd keep you here with me forever if I could._

_I know. You need to let me back, though. They'll get suspicious._

_I don't want you to be hurt._

_Too late, John. _

Phil found himself being herded up the stairs of the bus by Howard, who looked confused. Jonathan woke, and scooted over instinctively so that Phil had something to collapse into. He was aching all over, and slight tremors shook his body every few seconds.

"Hold me," he whispered.

***

Chris stopped the car and got out, slamming the door behind him. Matt motioned for Jeff to stay in the car, and scrambled out after him. The blond Canadian was rummaging around in the boot, and finally flipped up the floor to reveal a hidden compartment. He pulled out a long, thin object wrapped in cloth.

"What is that?" asked Matt cautiously, although really he already knew. Chris pulled the cloth away and the sharp glint of polished steel shone out in the moonlight.

**As usual, I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading ^_^**


	6. Chapter 6

**I am so sorry, I just got stuck with this one for ages. This always happens when I don't have a definite ending in mind! Rawr! Sorry!**

*******

John and Phil were resting while Howard continued his negotiations with the police, who had called again. Strangely enough, no-one on the bus was tired; the curious power John had emanated while fixing Jonathan seemed to have restored everyone on the bus. John himself however, still felt that uncomfortable grittiness that comes from lack of sleep. The two of them sat side by side - Phil's head on John's shoulder, John's head resting on top – and propped each other up perfectly. Two battered, bloodied angels. Jonathan's mother couldn't stop looking at them. That was her son's blood spattered across their shirts, clinging to John's hair, mingling with his sweat.

And the other man, Phil. He clutched almost desperately at John's waist; even in sleep his brow was drawn and his looks were troubled.

"Mummy, I'm hungry!"

It was the moment Jonathan's mother had been dreading for the past few hours.

"I'm thirsty, too."

John stirred – he had been careful not to slip into too deep a sleep – and opened one bleary eye.

"No don't, you've already done enough..." She protested, but John just gestured wearily at his bag and closed his eyes again.

Now came a dilemma. She felt most uncomfortable opening a strange man's bag, even if he had said to. But on the other hand, her child was hungry. She reached for it hesitantly, and when neither Phil nor John looked like they were going to protest, she opened it, and had to hide a laugh. Inside was a sparkly red fur coat and matching pants. She pushed these to the side, finding a water bottle and one of those energy bars amongst the fabulously fluffy garments. It didn't look like the best thing for a small child to be eating but at the present it would have to do. She gave them to Jonathan, then settled back to listen in to what Howard was saying.

"Look, if you don't release him, I'm going to start making good on my threats. Oh, you think I won't, do you?" He fired a shot into the roof of the bus, and everyone jumped. Phil was on his feet in an instant, looking around for what had happened. Then he saw the direction Howard's hand was pointing in, and relaxed. John remained seated with his head bowed a little, staring at Howard through the strands of hair that had fallen into his face.

"What? No! Look, I'm not even asking for money, do you get that, assholes? No need to put a burden on your... precious, uh, paychecks." He covered the phone with one hand and hissed at John, "Stop looking at me like that or I rape your little bitch again."

The words hit the two of them like a slap in the face. Phil's fists tightened, and John reached up and grabbed his hand, glancing over nervously at Jonathan. Luckily the child was too absorbed in eating to have heard.

"What?" Howard returned to the phone, "I _told_ you, no-one's been shot, unless you count the bus driver, but that wasn't me anyway." He eyed the third member of their gang, who looked over at the corpse and stifled a grin.

"So you guys have nothing on me."

There was silence save the angry babbling of the policeman on the other end of the line. Howard's eyes widened.

"Yes... I suppose I have. But all the past charges were false, I'm telling you. This is officially the first crime I've... Why won't you assholes believe me?"

More babbling. Howard closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"Just... let him out, and this'll all be over. Easy as mommas home-made fuckin' pie."

A very calm voice took over, and Howard's face reddened.

"Well, you just try that and as soon as I even _think_ I hear one of your guys approaching, I blow nanna's face off. You hear me? You hear- fuck, he hung up on me!"

"What'd they say?"

"Said they're not going to do it. Said he's too high a security risk. I understand." Howard had suddenly become totally calm, and smiled at the passengers, then at Ern.

"They did say something else, though, which made me think. When I told him I was innocent, he reminded me that I'm holding a busload of passengers hostage with guns." He laughed, "Imagine that! Hadn't thought of that one before. You know what that means?"

Ern shook his head nervously.

"Well, it means that I either get out of this dead, or in jail with Marty. Actually, I probably won't be in the same jail as him. Probably won't ever see him again."

Ern fidgeted, unsure of what to say. Howard inspected his gun theatrically, cocking it and then uncocking it.

"I guess they don't think we're serious yet. Well."

The gunshot rattled them all to the very core, and the old lady suddenly had a gaping, bleeding hole in her chest.

"Ern, take a photo and send it to them."

Jonathan's mother started screaming – her nerves were shot and this was the last straw - and oddly enough it was her boy that began to console her, wrapping his short arms around her neck

"Help me," whispered John, trying to get out of his seat and instead lurching forward. Phil caught him, and half-carried, half-dragged him over. It was funny, he seemed much slighter than Phil remembered. Not a good sign.

"John, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"No, and I'm fairly sure that we're going to fail miserably."

"Doesn't matter," sneered Howard, "She's old. Not long for this world anyway."

"Don't say that!" gasped the old lady, "I want to live!" She clutched at John's shirt, coughing blood onto the already soiled front. He winced, bringing up hands that already trembled with fatigue to try and cover the wound.

"Help me... please..." She choked.

For some reason, Phil was expecting the lady to accept her fate and die peacefully. Like people did in movies. Death in real life is much more painful, and they were forced to watch as the last gurgling, choked breaths faded from the old woman's body.

It perhaps affected John the most. He just knelt there motionless, his hands dropping limply to his sides. Her death seemed to have snuffed out the last tender sparks of hope he still carried with him – not for himself but for the three men who stood at the front of the bus. Phil placed a hand under his chin and turned him so that their eyes met, and found that those two bright orbs which usually sparkled with so much life now blinked dazedly, not even meeting his gaze. In fact, he looked like he was looking at something behind them...

"Hey assclowns, what the fuck d'you think you're doing with our boys?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Well here we are at the last chapter! ^_^ **

_** fire:**_** Since I have no way of replying to your review, I'll just do it here. Thank you so much for all your reviews, the fact that you took the time to write them really makes my day :D This chapter is for you.**

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Chris swung the butt of his rifle at Howard, catching him in the chin and making him drop his gun with a yelp. The third member of the gang took one wide-eyed look at the men who had suddenly appeared in the doorway and bolted through the front windscreen, clambering indifferently over the dead driver's corpse. Howard took the opportunity to nudge the gun under the seat behind him and fall to his knees obediently.

"Fuckin' COWARD!" Roared Ern after him, lunging for Chris, but he was caught in the face with a shovel wielded by Matt.

"Philly!" Jeff pushed through the two older men to get to his friend.

"Oh shit..." Chris was glad he hadn't looked around when he had entered, or he would have lost his bravado completely. Phil and John were kneeling next to a still-leaking corpse, splattered all over with blood. John looked like the walking dead; he was battered and ill-looking; his eyes were rimmed with red and held a rather disconcerting lifelessness. Phil had stood to greet Jeff, but he stayed slumped where he was, watching them with a kind of absent interest.

"Philly, you called Matt when they were... you know... and we heard everything."

Phil said nothing, he just stepped forward and hugged Jeff, burying his face in the younger Hardy's shoulder. Jeff rubbed his back soothingly and Phil sighed heavily before pulling away.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see your faces."

"Oh aren't you just one big fuckin' happy family?" Growled Howard, staring angrily at the barrel of the shotgun pointed between his eyes.

"I wish I could be part of one. But no. My family's locked up in a big fuckin' PRISON."

"Just like you'll be once the police get here assclown; you guys can do the cell block tango together."

"Fuck you. You'd think the police'd let my brother go for a busload of passengers. But no."

"Just shut it."

Howard reached for the gun at that moment, but thought better of it. Wait a while. Let them get cocky.

"It's those fuckin' queers that deserve to be locked up, not my brother."

"You." Chris rammed the butt of the rifle into Howard's forehead, "Are an asshole."

"Uh, Phil?" Matt jabbed threateningly at Ern's throat with the blade of the shovel to encourage him not to move, then turned to face them. "What's up with John?"

At the mention of his name, John's eyes flickered towards them.

"Nothing's up with me. I'm fine... let's just get out of here. I just want to leave."

"John, we can't; not until the police get here." Chris waggled his phone at him, although somewhat apologetically.

John growled in irritation and tried to get up, but failed.

_Dammit why do you have to be so weak?_

He punched the seat next to him in frustration and tears sprang into his eyes.

"Shit, just... Stop looking at me like that!"

Phil knelt down next to his lover, "John, calm down."

He didn't seem to hear, "Oh god, someone please get me away from this... thing..." His eyes screwed shut in pain, his breath hitching with a dry sob. There was no way Phil was going to handle this in his present condition, and so Matt thrust the shovel at Jeff and scooped the distraught young man up. He carried him outside which was lucky, because as soon as he was set down on the asphalt he toppled on to all fours and threw up. Matt held the hair out of his eyes with one hand and supported his head with the other; for some reason he didn't trust him not to fall forward at the moment.

Back inside the bus, Jeff was checking that all the other passengers were okay. From the overwhelming sense of relief, it seemed that all was well. Jonathan's mother had managed to pull herself together, and was occupying herself with making sure that her son didn't see the dead corpse. The young couple smiled at Jeff and the husband asked for his autograph. Despite the strangeness of the time, he was more than happy to oblige, and moved on to the man with the bad haircut.

_This is the guy Cena must take his styling tips from_ thought Jeff, nodding a greeting at him. He got a grunt in response, and then it got awkward so he made his way back to the front of the bus. Chris was on the phone to the police.

"Okay, what I don't understand is why you couldn't send in some of your guys to sort this out... That's fucking _bullshit_, we did it with shovel and a shotgun I haven't even used yet.... No, no-one's been hurt since we arrived. Yeah. Well maybe I should come and start a new training program. It involves my boot and your ass."

The passengers were too busy laughing at this to notice Jonathan quietly slip off, crawl commando-style under the rest of the seats and clamber off the bus. Matt tapped John on the shoulder and indicated the child who was watching towards them.

"Hey little guy..." John wasn't smiling, but a little of the warmth had returned to his eyes. Jonathan crawled into his lap, snuggling in determinedly.

"Mister?"

"Yep?"

"Will you be my daddy? I'll a-dopt you."

John said nothing, he just held little Jonathan close.

There was a gunshot from inside, and a scream. Matt was unsure of what happened, but Jonathan was suddenly in his lap, and John was in the bus.

_Did he fire six shots, or only five?_

In a last act of desperation, Howard had pulled out his gun and fired. He hadn't hit anyone, but John had found it in himself to make one last dash to the bus, where he crashed into Phil and stayed there.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." He whispered.

The bullet that pierced the two of them together then, had a kind of poetic irony about it. Together in sickness and in health indeed. The pain was too much – they passed out simultaneously.

Moments later, sirens and flashing lights appeared, and the bus was suddenly surrounded with policemen and ambulances.

***

**Evidence No. 24: Ace of Spades**

_**Card covered with traces of blood identified as the blood of Jonathan Smith, age 9. **_

_**Source of injury not found.**_

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**Well, that's it! Hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading! I have another one coming up. It's kind of like a sequel in that it's in the same AU. It'll be called Jack of Clubs. 'Cos the cool stuff JoMo can do needs more exploring.**


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